


Long Overdue

by Magisey



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Minor panic attack, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, t for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 09:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12678681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magisey/pseuds/Magisey
Summary: “Jesse McCree.” Turning, the doctor scoured her gaze over him, “The state of you…” Tsking, she hooked a roll around stool with her foot and drug it over. Effortlessly, Moira dropped to a seat and stared at the records.“Five years. Do you have a single bloody clue how long that is, lad?” Jesse fidgeted and cleared his throat, intent on answering when she held up a hand, “Don’t bother answerin’. If you did, you would have been here sooner.“So, Mister McCree. What Mister Reyes and I were wondering,” She had to be the only person on base who could get away with calling Reyes ‘Mister’ instead of Commander, “Is why you decided you could dodge five years worth of checkups.”---





	Long Overdue

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Chilliebean for beta-ing this for me! And also Ghost from the McHanzo server for telling me that someone from Dublin, like Moira, would use 'chicken' as an affectionate term.

Sitting on the cold steel of the gurney, with nothing but a flimsy paper nightgown to cover his shame, Jesse wonders where it all went wrong. There’s no one to really blame but fate and himself, though he is more inclined to blame fate. After all, everything that led him to this point had been fate’s twisted sense of humor. It was the first time since joining Blackwatch that a doctor was going to be giving him an actual checkup.

It’s not that Jesse was never hurt in the field. Frequently the gunslinger was wounded with shots or abrasions, but other than a quick field medicine or some nanotech, Jesse was good to go. Those moments weren't invasive and filled with awkward questions. 

And it’s not like there weren’t mandatory checks, but before their new strictly assigned medic, Blackwatch used whatever medical staff was available from Overwatch with a six-month checkup from Angela. 

With Angie, he’d become adept at ducking out at the right moments. It was easy, considering Reyes let him look through the whole schedule. He signed himself up for missions or left necessary papers and duties to the last second, so he had an excuse. Normally, such a  thing wouldn’t keep him afloat for so long; Angela would have wrung his neck and tracked him down to Siberia just to make sure her job was done.

But it was the others, the extra medical staff that were not interested in their jobs as much as Angela was. They were the ones he could bribe and twist their arms. Maybe smooth talk or just complain loud enough that they signed a quick full bill of health and McCree was off again, puffing cigars like a chimney, pounding whiskey like a dying man, and avoiding the judging, pitying stares of medical professionals.

Yet all good things had to come to an end, and it came with the name Moira O’Deorain: Newest Blackwatch recruit, scrutinized geneticist, and the first and only on call field medic for their covert ops.

Jesse tried his wiggly bullshit and had avoided a checkup for a whole month. It seemed like just  _ maybe _ Moira gave more shits about whatever nano-wumbo-jumbo she was cooking up than taking her job seriously.

Then the other boot fell.

That boot being Reyes.

On his head.

Well, more like  _ in _ his ear.

When his commander was done yelling at him, he had called him every insult and name the man could think of, in multiple different languages. Five years. Five  _ years _ without a checkup. Jesse landed in the little room with a paper gown and told to  _ strip _ immediately. 

It wasn’t that they didn’t know officially. As soon as Jesse had been booked at the jail, along with all his compatriots, the news had been broken to Reyes and Morrison. He had expected that coming to Blackwatch was going to be a lot like joining Deadlock - a lot of fighting tooth and nail to get respect. Working his way up the ranks and still, every present in the background, the snickers and dirty looks and words that weren’t  _ his. _

But Reyes had made a point to introduce Jesse as only Jesse. Outside of official documents, he was as by the books as any of them. Nothing unordinary about it.

So it wasn’t going to be a big upset that they medically knew the truth. No, what would be bad was what this would reveal. Worrying his lower lip, Jesse carefully tucked his hand into his right armpit and felt the little lump there. 

His hand shot away when the door opened, Moira stepping in. The doctor was a full head taller than Jesse, and Jesse was no short man. She was as tall if not taller than Reyes even. Her crisp suit was covered in a white doctor’s jacket, a holo-clipboard in hand as she tapped upon it.

“Jesse McCree.” Turning, the doctor scoured her gaze over him, “The state of you…” Tsking, she hooked a roll around stool with her foot and drug it over. Effortlessly, Moira dropped to a seat and stared at the records.

“Five years. Do you have a single bloody clue how long that is, lad?” Jesse fidgeted and cleared his throat, intent on answering when she held up a hand, “Don’t bother answerin’. If you did, you would have been here sooner.

“So, Mister McCree. What Mister Reyes and I were wondering,” She had to be the only person on base who could get away with calling Reyes ‘Mister’ instead of Commander, “Is why you decided you could dodge  _ five _ years worth of checkups.”

“Ain’t tryin’ to hide nothin’, Ma’am.” He reached up to tip his hat, but his hand fell uselessly halfway; he wasn’t wearing it.

Moira arched one eyebrow, her expression growing bitter, “Is that so? Then I suppose I should inform Mister Reyes that you’re mentally unfit for the field and will need to undergo some group therapy.” She stood with the same grace as she had fallen, eating the floor between the chair to the door in a handful of long strides. Jesse gaped, panic surging over him as he stumbled off the table. His feet slapped against the cold floor of the exam room. 

Lurching towards the opening door, Jesse caught the edge and held it still, only open a sliver. “Please,” His voice was a low, hoarse whisper. A cold sweat had broken out on his skin. Moira’s expression of disdain had never changed, “Don’t do that. I can’t… You don’t  _ understand. _ ”

Silently, the doctor shut the door and turned to him. Moira was slight and tall, like a willow sappling that had overgrown and forgotten to fill out, but at that moment Jesse found himself cowed by the hard cold look in her eyes of quiet fury, “You’re right, Mister McCree, I  _ don’t _ understand, and quite frankly you’re not helpin’ me to understand.”

Dumbfounded that his plea had worked, Jesse dropped his eyes to the floor. His hairy toes contrasted sharply against the white tile, and even more so in comparison to the sleek, shiny work shoes, Moira was wearing. Prim. Propper. He pinched his eyes shut, shaking with fury and the need to  _ run _ because when the going got tough, that was the first urge his coward heart summoned: run. He had run for so long, and for so far, it was a second nature. Taking a shuddering breath, he let it out slowly. Again and again.

Clearly seeing no change, Moira continued, “I will give you one chance, Mister McCree. You either tell me why you decided to put at risk not only yourself, but every single person you worked within the field; or I am going to inform Mister Reyes that you’re unfit for service.”

Where could he run to? Off base? No, Reyes could find him. He still owed the man his life - literally. Could he try to go underground for a while? Maybe join another gang? Tears stung the back of his eyes and he grit his teeth. Here he was, shaking and scared like a whelp.

A hand on his shoulder jerked him from his dark thoughts. “Mister McCree,” Moira was gently guiding him back towards a chair now, the gurney forgotten. He sat down on the hard plastic, shivering as it touched the back of his bare thighs. She sat down now too, eye level with him, “This is your last chance.”

Jesse tucked his chin down and sighed, eyes pinched shut. His head and heart throbbed. “I…” He croaked. Clearing his throat, he started again, “I… I got an implant.”

It’d been a big deal at the time. Their doctor in Deadlock was a man who had dropped out of med school for bad grades and wound up back home, drunk and living off the glory of knowing basic antiseptic and nanite preservation. He’d warned Jesse then that the implant would last four, maybe five years tops. Ones that were more of the legal variety could stay in longer, but this was bottom shelf black market goods. Jesse hadn’t cared. He wasn’t planning on being around for much longer than that. Hell, if he did, he’d be a senior officer and could get a better replacement. So he eagerly took it, endured the surgery with poor antitheses and sported the scar with pride.

He’d been sixteen. One year before the bust.

He was twenty-two now.

Silence. Moira said nothing and Jesse couldn’t bring himself to look up at her, too afraid of whatever it was that would happen next. He absolutely  _ could not _ live without the implant. It had been a massive turning point for him and he wasn’t ready to give it up. Even if it meant running from Blackwatch.

“I… Fail to see what you mean, Jesse.” Her voice was softer, a touch kinder. He glanced up and the cold look had been exchanged for one of bewilderment, “Why would an implant keep you from seeing a doctor?”

“It… It was only supposed to stay in for a few years. Been… Been in too long.”

The cold look returned. “I need to draw blood and give you a thorough examination.”

It went as predicted - Moira poked and prodded, drew blood, and cursed when she felt the lump where the implant was. It had taken on a fun new twist too, the flesh was slightly discolored. Jesse had accounted it to scar tissue, but the pinched, furious look on the doctor’s face cowed him from telling her so. All the while, she muttered about ‘Idiots with their heads in their arses’ and how ‘Darwin really might have a place in modern medicine’. 

The blood tests were sent out as well as Moira, giving Jesse time to reflect on just how  _ fucked _ he was. Hot, bitter tears washed down his face as he bent in half, sobbing against his knees. He was going to lose everything. Everything he had fought for. Everything he had been trying to keep together. All of it was going to be gone, just like a snap of her fingers, and there was nothing he could do about it.

The door opened and he rushed to wipe off his face and stifle his tears. “All right, the results weren’t as bad as I thought they might be, but we still need to remove it as soon as…” Her voice trailed off. Despite his best attempts to stop the tide of tears, they just weren’t staying back. He wiped furiously, but every wipe replaced them with more and more.

He covered his face, shame flushing hot on his cheeks and ears. Breaking down and sobbing like a baby over what? Nothing. Nothing at all.

“Oh… Chicken.” Great, was she calling him a coward too? But she had said it so softly, filled with pity and kindness. A hand, stroking his hair broke his train of thoughts, “What has gotten you so worked up?”

“I can’t I can’t I can’t I --”

“Shh, Shh.” There was a scraping sound of the wheeled stool being pulled over. Moira was carefully tucking longer pieces of hair behind his ear, “There there, my chicken. Take a deep breath and let it out.”

Jesse did as instructed, and slowly thoughts returned.

“There, now, can you tell me what is wrong?” 

He didn’t want to look at her. It was easier in the dark, his hand covering his face. Taking a shuddering breath, Jesse let it out slowly and spoke, “I don’t wanna live without the pump. I can’t go back t’how it was before. I can’t… Be that person.”

Humming softly, Moira rubbed his back slowly, “So you skipped doctor’s appointments for fear that your pump would be taken?”

“Yeah.” He croaked.

“Blackwatch might be a covert agency, Jesse, but I know they would get you a better quality pump. One that wouldn’t start to poison you.”

Sucking in air, Jesse let it out slowly and dropped his hand. His head ached from the tears and embarrassment, made all the worse by the glare from the tiles, “‘Course, I know that it’s just not considered medically necessary. That and it’d leave me laid up from work, ‘cause Overwatch would want me t’go through properly therapy and all the channels… So who knows when I’d get it back.” The machine of bureaucracy kept them all back at times.

“Ah, now that makes more sense. Well, considering my pull with Commander Reyes, and how it is medically necessary, I can sign off that you need it done post haste. With a few days off for recovery, but not much to impact your schedule.”

Jesse was struck speechless. Blinking rapidly at the doctor, he tried to push off the tension, “Well shit, I… I wouldn’t mind, but… Why?”

Moira considered him for a long moment before she started to roll up her sleeve. There on her left forearm was a peculiar cross-shaped scar - a pump scar. “Because, Mister McCree, you’re not the only one who would find it medically necessary. I understand that your life before Blackwatch was one of a rough sort. It makes sense you’d be worried.”

Wide-eyed, Jesse couldn’t help but smile. He knew no one else in Overwatch who was similar to him, though in this case on the opposite end of the spectrum, “You too?”

“Indeed. Why do you think I got interested in genetics in the first place?” Moira’s amusement sang in her voice, her lips quirked carefully, “In the future, we can discuss some more experimental surgeries that can help you feel better in your own body.”

“Don’t think our insurance covers that, Ma’am.” Jesse ran a hand through his own hair, feeling dizzy with relief and shock.

Tsking, the doctor stood and shook her head, “Oh chicken. You’re quite naive at times, aren’t you? Not to worry. With a little doctoring of documents and telling Reyes, it will all be done without a problem. Now, change your clothes. You’ll be admitted to a room so we can get that thing out of you and a better one in its place. How do you feel about some more body hair?”

“Y-yeah, I… I’d like that.” He watched as Moira left the room, his world turned upside down. Maybe doctors weren’t such a bad thing after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and Criticisms welcome.


End file.
